


touch me with your naked hand (touch me with your glove)

by WhenasInSilks



Series: Tithe [2]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Fingering, I made a porn, Jareth keeps his gloves on, Masturbation, PWP, Power Dynamics, Power Reversal, Sarah has had enough, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, The Goblin King is a tease, bdsm undertones, or maybe overtones, so it's a good thing it's a fantasy or his dry cleaning bill would be through the roof, some kind of tones anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenasInSilks/pseuds/WhenasInSilks
Summary: Even in her fantasies, he’s laughing at her.Waking from a strange dream, Sarah finds herself unable to fall back to sleep and decides to take a more hands-on approach to relaxation. She doesn'tmeanto fantasize about the Goblin King. It just sort of... happens that way....and really, is it such a surprise that the friction between the two of them should be so maddening and so irresistible?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Next chapter of Tithe is slow going, but it is, in fact, going. Meanwhile, as I oh so rashly promised, here’s Sarah’s Goblin King fantasy in full. This is a sort of deleted scene from Tithe (I definitely expanded it for this oneshot), but you can probably read it on its own if you just want some porn—in that case, just start at the italics. And thanks to SarahlouiseDodge for reminding me about this—I’d totally forgotten... The scene starts when Sarah wakes up from her weird dream in Chapter 9.

_And then he’s on his knees before her again, brushing her robe aside, and his lips are on her and the warm, wet swipe of his tongue—_

* * *

Sarah wakes with a gasp. At some point in her sleep she must have rolled onto her back, and her hand has worked its way beneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms. She snatches it away, face burning, and her color deepens as the air fills with the smell of her own arousal.

 _Don’t be such a prude_ , she tells herself, rolling onto her side. It was obviously just some sort of weird, vaguely creepy erotic dream. Not even the weirdest one she’s had (or the creepiest, if it comes to that). Nothing to be ashamed of, and certainly no reason to feel like…like some sort of _voyeur_.

She shifts against the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position, and closes her eyes, but she’s too keyed up. She can’t seem to remember how she normally lies, her body awkward and uncooperative.

She jams one arm under the pillow and plonks her head down on top of it. Unfortunately, this has the effect of positioning her face just over her left armpit. She takes a deep breath and…

Scowling, Sarah sits bolt upright, pulling off her t-shirt, which, she realizes for the first time, is more than a little damp. She gives herself a cursory wipe-down with the offending garment, then balls it up and flings it into the corner of the room. She lies back down, but the cool night air on her bare skin has had a predictable effect on her nipples, and the sensation when she pulls the sheets up over her chest does nothing to lessen the ache between her thighs.

Which…

Which is certainly one way of knocking herself out, and here her body is, ready and more than willing. And really, after everything she’s been through, doesn’t she _deserve_ a decent orgasm?

She rolls onto her back, one hand stealing beneath her waistband as she tries to bring to mind the scene at the end of her dream. It comes back to her with surprising ease, not faded at all, as if it’s simply been waiting patiently for her attention to return: the man—what had his name been?—kneeling before her, face upturned, lips parted, eyes dark with desire. Strange that she should remember his face so clearly. She’s sure she’s never seen it before. She’d have remembered a face like that, all doe eyes and tousled curls over warm-honey skin—a bit too pretty for her tastes, if truth be told, though her body doesn’t seem to object. But there’s something strangely familiar about it, something that both stirs her—she sucks in a breath as her fingers glide over a particularly sensitive spot—and repulses her, an almost rigid perfection of the features, as if the face is nothing but a beautiful mask, covering up something unknown, something indescribably _other_ …

Her breath catches as she realizes where she’s seen a face like that before.

And all of a sudden it’s not a dark head before her _but a blond one_ , and she tries, she _tries_ to stop picturing it but all she can see i _s a pair of sly blue eyes canting upwards to meet hers while his hand slides slowly up her thigh, the fabric of her skirt bunching beneath leather-clad fingers. He holds her gaze as he works his way upward, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if in challenge._

_His hand skims up past her hip and comes to a halt._

_He smiles._

_“Hold this.”_

_Her fingers close around the gathered material of her skirt._

_“Good girl,” he praises, pressing a kiss against her hip._

She lets out a faint sound, too soft to be a moan and yet too throaty to be merely a breath, then claps her spare hand over her mouth.

_He repeats the operation on her left side, baring her hip and thigh and giving her the fabric to hold. Then he sits back to survey his handiwork._

_“Precious thing, you are a feast. And yet, something is not quite… ah…”_

_He rises on his knees, twitching her sleeves from off each shoulder. The robe parts down the middle, baring her breasts as it falls. She’s completely exposed now, clutching the now-useless robe to her midriff._

_“Exquisite.”_

_He lowers his head. One hand nudges her thigh and she widens her stance ever so slightly._

_“Very good,” he says, then turns his head to one side and nips her sharply on the inner thigh._

_She gives a choked sort of cry, but already he’s making soothing noises against her skin, laving the bitemark with his tongue, as one hand smooths across her hip, gliding along the hollow of her back and further down until he’s cradling one cheek in his hand._

_Gently, almost experimentally, he squeezes, and she sucks in a breath._

_He pulls his head back far enough to look at her, and she sees the mocking laughter which dances in his eyes—even in her fantasies, he’s laughing at her. Then he lowers his head once more, pressing kisses to her inner thigh as his hand lifts and comes down again, hard, colliding with her flesh with a resounding smack._

_Her fingers slacken at the shock of it, the fabric of her skirt slipping down her thighs. He tsks, gathering the cloth once more and returning it to her grasp._

_“What shall we do with you?” he wonders, sitting back on his heels. The hand on her ass urges her forward a few steps. He smiles slowly, catlike, as his fingers dig in to the tender flesh of her rump._

_She turns her head into her shoulder, muffling a curse against her skin. He raises a finger to his lips, chiding, then pulls the finger away, looking down at it with a thoughtful expression…_

Her breathing is growing heavier, a fine sheen of sweat dusting her forehead.

_And now a black-gloved hand is reaching between her thighs, parting her. The tip of his thumb drags against her clit and she bites back another oath. With leisurely deliberation, he pushes his index and middle fingers inside her until they will go no further. Then he flattens the heel of his hand against her and grinds upwards._

_She writhes against him for a few moments, flushed and panting, before he moves his spare hand to her hip, stilling her. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and shows them to her, leather wet and glistening. Then he closes his mouth around them, cheeks hollowing as his eyes crinkle and gleam with intolerable smugness._

And, abruptly, she’s had enough. Bad enough that he should insinuate himself into her fantasies like this—she’ll be damned if she’ll stand frozen and trembling like a rabbit before a wolf. So in her mind, _when he reaches for her once more she steps out of his grasp and shoves, hard enough to send him sprawling backwards. He gazes up at her, _and how clearly she can picture _his expression, the way his lips part and his eyes widen, face momentarily and startlingly youthful in its surprise._

_She tugs the robe over her head, hasty and inelegant, and tosses it to one side, feeling suddenly and thrillingly powerful in her nakedness. She tosses her head, feeling the sweep of her hair against the bare flesh of her back, and smiles._

_The surprise on his face vanishes and is replaced by pure, naked hunger as she straddles him, running her hands down her torso, fingers skimming over the fullness of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach._

_“Sarah,” he breathes, almost reverent, reaching out for her. She intercepts his hand and places it on her waist as she lowers her hips, fitting herself against the hard curve of his erection. He sucks in a breath, holding her against him as they begin to move together in a lilting, undulating rhythm._

_“Sarah,” he says again, and she almost— almost—echoes him, but she remembers himself in time, biting back the name that had risen with almost alarming readiness to her lips. _

_He sees it—sees her lips part around his name, and sees her swallow it down again._

_“ Sarah,” he growls, demanding it from her, and she shakes her head, stubborn, secretly delighting in the way his eyes narrow._

_He surges upwards, seeking her lips, but she jerks her chin up and aside, and he turns his attention to her left breast, lips closing over the tip and sucking hard. A strangled noise escapes her as one gloved hand rises and pinches her other nipple, rolling the skin between thumb and forefinger._

A prickling heat is spreading throughout her body. Her brain has sunk into summer haze, heat-fogged. The scene begins to slip away from her and she clutches at it desperately, shamelessly, scrunching up her face in concentration, one hand still clamped to her mouth, the other working frantically against her as in her mind…

_…he pulls his head back, releasing her breast with a sucking sound, loud and obscene. She watches, panting, hips still moving against his, as he runs his tongue across his teeth. Then, she slides a hand under his shirt until she finds one of his nipples and twists, a delighted smile spreading across her face as he bites down hard on his lower lip. She rolls her hips, grinding harder against him, and really, is it such a surprise that the friction between the two of them should be so maddening and so irresistible?_

_“ Sarah,” he says again. It’s meant to be a command, but his imperiousness is edged with desperation now. She knows what he wants, but she only grins at him, wild and wanton and cruel, showing him where she keeps his name trapped behind the bars of her teeth._

_His eyes darken with the challenge, lips pulling back in something like a snarl, and then his hands are closing none too gently around her haunches and dragging her forward until she’s poised over him and then—_

_ Jesus fucking Christ. _

_Her lips part in a soundless scream, fingers knotting in his hair as he opens his mouth against her, and it’s too much, it’s very nearly too much, the tickle of his ragged hair against her stomach, the damp heat of his breath on the most intimate parts of her as his tongue scrawls strange alphabets against her flesh. Her hips jerk involuntarily but his fingers are like steel, digging into her flesh with bruising force, holding her in place as he closes his lips over her clit and sucks—_

And this must be why they call it _coming_ , because it rolls and keeps rolling upon her and doesn’t _stop_ , wave after wave of spangled, trembling heat. She lets herself go limp, still feeling the aftershocks crashing through her.

When at last her vision clears and the shaking has stopped, she rolls over, pressing her thighs together. Best not to dwell on the fact that she’d had the most delicious, toe-curlingest orgasm of her life to a fantasy of the Goblin King eating her out. It was just… the erotic dream. Plus the fact that he’d been looming so large in her thoughts the past few days. For obvious reasons. Emotional turmoil manifesting as sexual confusion. Totally normal. So, normal, in fact, that there’s no need to mention or even think about it. At all. Ever again.

She lies there, and lets her mind go blank. Darkness rises quickly to take her, sleep closing about her like water, black and cool and deep. But even as she begins to slip away, she can feel the name which lingers on her tongue. Finally, just on the border of dreaming, she parts her lips and sets it free, breathing it into the pillow, safe in the knowledge that she will not remember the transgression come morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling kind of weird about this one—it’s stylistically different to what I have planned for smut scenes in the story and maybe a little… pornographic for my tastes? But I promised I’d post it, so. This is/was my first time writing smut and I don’t really know what I’m doing or where this falls on the “awkward vs sexy vs painfully overwritten” scale, so any feedback, including concrit, would be very much appreciated!


End file.
